The Pikes Peak Marathon is largely considered the toughest marathon in the U.S. Just do a quick google search, and it will be at the top of most lists. Not only does it gain 7,800 feet, but it also takes place at altitude. It starts at 6,300 feet, and its finishing altitude is 14,115 feet, which is well above the tree line, so oxygen becomes a precious commodity, and if not acclimated, oxygen at the start of the race is already a precious commodity, but unlike most races I have competed in, no one was sprinting off the start line, because all you have to do is look up, and you realize, what awaits you, so no need to burn that extra energy getting off the start line quick.
(Start of the race, if you look closely, my head is below the 2)
It was so odd running through the largely empty streets of Manitou Springs, except for some cheering spectators, and looking down at my watch to see that I was only running 7:30 pace, and the lead pack was not too far ahead of me. The first mile was all on the road, and the incline was not too bad, until it got closer to the trail, so I ran a blazing 7:45 opener. Once on the trail, I looked behind me, and there was a line of runners, and in front of me there was a decent gap, so I felt pressure to move at a solid pace so as not to effect those behind me too much, and I tried to stay as far to one side as possible, because I knew what was about to happen. I was going to get passed.
If you look at the results, most of the people in the race were from Colorado, and if they were not from Colorado, they were from another state where the mountains were high, and elevation training was easily accessible, so although I felt confident in my climbing ability, I knew most of these people had much more experience in this field. So as we zig zagged up the mountain, people were passing me on a regular basis. It felt like a ton of people passed me, but it was not nearly as many as I thought.
The first aid station was at the 5k mark, and at the expo the previous day, they gave everyone running a reusable cup, so that there would not be paper cups thrown all over the mountain, which was great, and so I stopped and got some Skratch from the people. I think they were surprised that someone closer to the front was already asking for some services, because the guy just looked at me before realizing I was waiting for him to pour it in my cup, but it was a nice reward for making it through some tough switch backs.
I had my water pack on, which had a bladder, and I had one water bottle, which I had filled with Skratch, basically a sports drink mix. For food I had also packed three pancakes, and three gels, which I had scheduled out to eat at various points, but I learned very quickly that this all worked out great theoretically. I had made a whole plan the night before of when I was going to drink what, and when I was going to eat what, but I forgot how hard it was to eat and drink at elevation and while climbing. So every time I tried to drink through the straw from the bladder, I lost so much air I got light headed, and this is how I planned on getting most of my water, so this was unfortunate. I had planned only to eat one pancake while climbing, because I knew how hard it would be to try to eat and breathe, and it took me a whole mile to finish my small pancake for the later pancake, I dunked it in water to make it go down easier. Thankfully my bottle was very easy to drink from, and it became my primary mode for liquid for the second half of the race.
(The view above the tree line was amazing)
At one point, the race goes through a rock arch as it goes from a more desert feel into the forest, so when we came out and up the other side, it was like being transported into a new environment, and it was much cooler. I had just taken my gloves off a mile, but I was already putting them back on my hands, because it was already starting to get cold at the higher altitude, when I heard someone behind me call out my name. It was a guy who I had just met down at the start line who I had a brief conversation with him. His name was David, and it was his 20th time running the race, and everyone on the mountain cheering knew him by name, and when I commented on how many people knew him, he said it was because he had lived there his whole life, and he used to write for the paper about running, so it made sense that everyone knew him.
He had a small crew with him, and he talked to me for a couple of minutes, and the group he was with were talking as well, and I was able to contribute some, but I could not have kept up their pace and talked. I could feel a cramp coming on just from my small conversation with them. They seemed like they were having such a good time though, and they were really appreciating the scenery and the weather. I tried to cling to them, but it just did not seem like it was a good idea, so I sank back as they slowly slipped away, but they knew what it was all about, appreciating the experience and the beauty, so it was good to have that small experience with them.
Shortly after that I was approaching the halfway point to the top, so a quarter of the way through the race. I was feeling great, and I kept feeling really confident, like this is not going to be a problem. I will slowly trudge up the rest of the mountain and glide my way back down, no problem, and every time I started to get these thoughts; I could not help but laugh at myself though. I still had close to 20 miles to get through, and I had not even made it above the tree line yet, so the challenge was still on its way.
(When you realize how much more you have to climb)
At the start of the race, I felt like I could feel the elevation more than I was expecting. It was an easy start, so it should have been easy to breathe, but I felt constraint, but as I continued along, this slowly faded, which is the same thing that happened in Flagstaff and Bozeman, so I knew to stay calm, and that it would slowly go away, but I was still worried about what would happen above the tree line. Preparing for the race, I had only been above the tree line once, and it had not been ideal. There was a sign marking 11,500 feet, signifying the tree line, and thus a continuation into uncharted territory for me. I was about to go over 2,500 feet higher than I had ever gone before.
Once I got up there, something surprising started to happen. For the first time since the first mile, I started to pass people. It was close to three miles from the tree line to the top, and I guess my consistency paid off. I continued to run my own race despite being passed in the beginning. I did not let it get to me. I knew how I had trained, and how I was going to run optimally and sticking to it paid off. A few of the people who had just passed me, I was now passing again, and a couple people who had passed me miles ago I was now passing.
This was all great for my standing in the race and incredibly surprising, but there was something even better. The view. The second we were above the tree line, the view was breath taking, literally and figuratively. It was a perfectly clear day, the sun was shining, and I could see for miles, and in Colorado, if you can see for miles, it is guaranteed to be a great view. I am sad I did not have my camera to take a picture of it, but it is in my head mentally forever. I wanted to tell everyone around me how great I thought the view was, and how awesome I thought the race was, but I was also still trying to breath, so I kept it to myself.
The trail at this point became mixed. At times it was a nice fine gravel that was easy to run on, but there were large rocks starting to pop up as well. At this point my calf was starting to hurt some. It had been hurt from the end of the Montana trip, and it had just started to feel good a couple days before, so I kept telling it and the other muscles in my body they just had to hang on a little longer, we were so close to the top. The closest I came to cramping was when there were these giant rock steps we had to take, and they were like over three feet high, and behind my knee on the sides started to feel like they were going to cramp, so I had to adjust. I had to use my upper body to push my legs to bring my body up, because my legs just did not have it in them to get my full body weight up at that point, but I persevered and the adjustment worked perfectly.
Being up that high, I started to get a little wobbly at times. It was really hard to drink any water without immediately feeling lightheaded. I can only compare it to having a few drinks, and your head feels light, and your balance is not as good. This can be a little scary at times, when I was on a ledge, and I would start to wobble. I would have to restabilize myself and then keep going. One strategy I used was any time I started to get right behind someone, instead of passing them, I would slow down to take a drink of water, and this would result in them putting some space in between us, and then the next time I would catch up, then I would pass.
(Feeling wobbly above the tree line)
It was not until mile 11, when the leader came flying down the mountain towards me. This was not an easy section going up or down, but he was gliding. I do not even know how it is possible to move that smoothly and fast down terrain like that, but that is why he won, and I did not. I do not think he even had to look where he was stepping. It was like his body knew just where to go. I honestly thought the leader would have passed me a lot sooner than that, so I was feeling good, and then the count started. I wanted to know what place I was in at the halfway point, so now I was concentrating on running and occasionally counting a person flying past. There were a couple of times when I could not remember what exact number I was at, so when I got to the top, I thought I was around 43rd. Then the second race began. The race to the bottom.
After stopping at the top to take in a full drink, I headed down, and the start of the decent is technical due to the larger rocks, and some of the bigger steps. So it was hard to get speed going immediately, but I was already talking to myself saying that I had to push. I do not have much confidence in my down hill running abilities, so when I thought I was in 43rd, I thought I would really have to move it, or I would fall out of the top 50. There were only a couple of times where descending became a tango with the people ascending, and despite the snow dump on Friday, it had largely melted off the top of the mountain making it a nonfactor, so it was really just me verse the mountain. My legs were relieved to no longer be climbing, but they felt the pounding of the descent after just a couple of miles, enough to get back into the tree line, and into some more rooty terrain.
I had started out strong on the descent, but it did not stay that way. I ended up in no mans land, and I was slowing down drastically, which was far from ideal. With about nine miles to go, I heard someone flying down the mountain behind me, and this girl, who went on to get third for women, was speeding on by. Too fast to even think about joining her, but right after her, another girl passed me, but she was not going nearly as fast, and so I clung onto her coattail. I had followed her earlier above the tree line before eventually passing her, and now I was back behind her again. She clearly knew what she was doing, so I just stared at her feet, and I tried to make the same steps that she did.
Just like that I was already moving so much faster, and I ran with her for a couple miles, including the two up hills on the way back, which lasted longer than I expected, but they gave the legs a nice reprieve from the pounding of going down. We rolled into an aid station, and I stopped and had my bottle filled with Skratch, and she just got a little water and splashed it on herself, and then she was gone, and I never saw her again. Her name was Jennifer Yeaman, and she went on to be the fifth female, and I give her credit for helping keep me moving. Once she was gone, there were two guys in front of me that had slowed down, and so I passed both of them, and then there was less than six miles left. I was scheduled to take my last gel to give me the energy to get to the finish, but I did not want it.
At this point, my body felt awful. I was exhausted. My stomach and chest felt like they were cramping, and although I knew I needed it, I did not want it. I opened it and took as big a mouthful as I could and gagged, but I ate most of it and just put the rest back in my pocket. Some was better than none. At this point, I never saw another runner. I had passed all the people going up at some point, and I never passed another runner, and no one passed me for what felt like forever. I was just trying to make it to the check points, get a small drink and keep moving. The volunteers at the aid stations gave so much energy, and it was much needed. What really kept me going was being worried that a group would come flying down, and I would lose my top 50 spot. I had no idea where I was in the rankings for sure, so losing even a couple spots seemed like a threat, but it was hard to keep pushing without seeing anyone.
I kept having to remind myself to stay calm and breath. It was obviously painful, but nothing was actually hurt, so I just got to the acceptance phase, and I tried not to think about it too much, and I just counted down the miles. The quicker I ran, the quicker I would be done. Once I got to the final two miles, I started to feel a lot better, and once I got to the road, I knew I had it. I was able to fly down the road, and my last mile was amazingly a sub-7. While on the way down, there was a couple sitting in their driveway drinking, and the guy while cheering reached in his cooler and handed me a beer. I did not know what to do with it at the time, so I took my bottle out of my pack, and I shoved it in there for safe keeping for later. Then there was the finish line. There were many people lined up towards the end and cheering, and I had a big smile on my face, and like Boston, I started to tear up and breakdown.
(Smiling at the end despite being exhausted)
I crossed the finish line 5 hours 15 minutes and 15 seconds after the gun had gone off that morning. I had gone all the way up the mountain and all the way back down, and I was the 39th person to finish. Much faster than I imagined, and in a much better place than I thought as well. I was exhausted physically and emotionally. I received my medal, and I stumbled into the finisher tent trying not to cry. I just stood there not wanting to sit down despite being told repeatedly to sit down. I thought if I sat down that I would not get back up, but eventually I caved after drinking some pickle juice. The volunteers were great, and they got me some water, watermelon, and ice. They were so helpful. I talked to some of the people around me, including David again, who finished after me. He asked me what my favorite part was, so I talked about being above the tree line, and I asked him what was different about this one from the other 20 he had run, and he talked about how perfect and clear the weather was. It really was the perfect day.
(Crossing the line)
When I finally mustered the strength to leave, there was a volunteer, who looked like she was probably a grandmother, and so when I was leaving, I went up to her and asked for a hug, which I really needed, and then I cried again. She told me I did a great job, which was nice of her. Then I left feeling much better. Who knew running long distances was so emotional. I was proud of what I had accomplished and happy to be done, and I could not contain those emotions.
I walked over to the post race celebration area, and I got my finishers jacket, which is a nice gray with blue accents, and then I sat on a wall. There was another guy close by that had finished ahead of me, and I started talking to him, and we ended up talking for hours. He, like I, was in his mid-20s, he came from New York (city), and he was there alone as well. His name was Soren, and he was originally from the area, so he was more familiar with the mountains than I, and he has completed some ultras. It was great to have someone to talk to. We shared our racing experience and our running experience in general, and coincidentally, we parked in the same place, so after having some pizza and beer, we walked back together as well, which included a massive hill to get up to our cars.
The power of the running community is great, especially the trail community. On the way up, when someone passed me, I made sure to tell them good job, and most of the time, they would return a similar pleasantry, and when I was coming down there were many of these exchanges shared with people who were still climbing. It was worth using the oxygen I needed to give small encouragements to strangers, and it was helpful to receive them as well. Not to mention all of the aid station workers that did their best to make everyone feel special that ran through. Even after the race all the volunteers in the tent were so kind and attentive, and when we were walking down the street to our cars so many people told us congratulations.
The week leading into the race, I was so nervous. I was worried that I had not trained enough. This race climbed over 3,000 feet from my record high for a climb, and it reached an altitude higher than I had ever been at before, but I kept reminding myself of all the different ways I had trained, and how comfortable I felt running when at altitude on vacation. This helped some, but oddly I did not feel fully confident until I landed in Colorado Springs, and I saw the massive snow topped mountain that I had to climb. The snow on top added some worry, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I just tried to ignore that part, and thankfully it mostly melted by the time I was up there. The day before I was so excited, and I felt so ready. The newfound positivity and excitement really helped me perform to the best of my ability, and I had prepared myself for the need of some serious self-talk to keep me moving when it was hard, and I also tried to distract myself with thinking about form and nutrition. I have been reading a book called Mental Training for Ultrarunning, and it had many tips on how to run mindfully and persevere, and I used this as well.
The race was incredible, and the next day, I kept looking up at Pikes Peak not believing that I had run to the top and back down, and somehow managed to be in the top 50 as a flatlander, but I had done it. I love running already, but this made me so excited about all the different possibilities that running can provide in a variety of environments and formats. I am so excited to run my first ultramarathon in November, the JFK 50, and as always I would like to thank everyone who helped get me here. The list is long, but there are three specific people who helped me probably unknowingly to become the mountain runner that I am now.
The first time I was in Highland Forest running I started to walk up a big hill, and Lee zoomed past me going down the hill, and I was embarrassed, so I decided that I would not be caught walking again in Highland, and this has really helped me push through big hills. Lee also caught back up to me later on, and he ran behind me and talked to me, even though he very easily could have left me in the dust, and I really appreciated that. Next is A.J, I was doing Tinker repeats, and he just happened to show up, and he was doing the same thing. I was almost done, but I had enough time to get one done with him, and when we were going downhill, I really focused on what he was doing, and I was immediately minutes faster going down the hill. Lastly is Jared, who asked me to come run Tinker repeats with him, and we did six together, and this gave me the time to pick his brain on form and on races. It also allowed me to watch him fly down the hills as well. I also joined the Miles and Macros team, and they have been so supportive of me and all my training, so a big thank you to them as well! Thanks to my dad, who booked our Montana trip, which allowed for some more altitude training, and the rest of my family for being supportive, and the rest of my running friends, who are always supportive and cheer me on! I am incredibly lucky!
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